"I know her," nodded Madison. "Pretty girl and all right, Flopper. But mind what you're doing, that's all. I don't want any complications to queer things around here—understand? But let's get down to the business that I came out about—the lay from now on. You can put Helena wise."
"Sure," said the Flopper earnestly.
"Well then, listen," said Madison. "The patients have begun to arrive—there were three of them in to-day. There's no more circus parades—everything's under the tent after this. I want you to wean the Patriarch entirely from that front room—that's to be free for anybody to enter so's they can drink in atmosphere—and see the contribution box. But they don't see the Patriarch. Get his armchair into his own room, make him comfortable there—get the idea? Now, there's no consultation hours—the Patriarch can't be seen just by asking for him—the only chance they get at the Patriarch is by an exercise of patience that'll work their faith up to a pitch that'll do them some good. The harder it is to get a thing, the more it's worth and the more you want it—that's the principle. See?"
"Sure," said the Flopper, licking his lips.
"Sometimes," Madison went on, "you're to keep the Patriarch under cover for two or three days, while they hang around working themselves into a frenzy. And when they do see him they have to scramble for it. You don't lead him out to them—ever. Make them waylay him when
